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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646104">how deep is our love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heephrodisiac/pseuds/heephrodisiac'>heephrodisiac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thai Actor RPF, ทฤษฎีจีบเธอ | Theory of Love (TV), ทฤษฎีจีบเธอ | Theory of Love (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop &amp; Tattoo Parlor, Boys' Love, Humour, M/M, Romance, Smut, Tattoos, maybe smut, off is a tattoo artist yay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heephrodisiac/pseuds/heephrodisiac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Gun is that he likes consistency. So when the tattoo artist from the shop across theirs unknowingly ruins the cocoon of familiarity he's built around himself, he knows he won't stop until that strangeness ultimately becomes familiar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Off Jumpol Adulkittiporn/Gun Atthaphan Phunsawat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. gorgeous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the summary sounds so serious but in reality it's just “i work at a flower shop and you’re a tattoo artist from across the street and you always come in here to practice drawing flowers and you’re really hot” wc is a prompt i've stumbled upon on tumblr when i was trying to look for ideas for a tattoo artist au. i hope you enjoy and find this interesting enough</p><p>for reference, here's offgun in this au with off adorned with tattoos:<br/>https://twitter.com/heephrodisiac/status/1289534426133667840</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The thing about Gun is that he likes consistency. The idea of habits, routines— waking up at the same time every day to take the same bus, be dropped off at the same stop, spend the whole day attending to customers and his lovely flowers, and then come back home at six in the evening only to repeat the same pattern the next day. He likes it, the redundancy. He basks in the strange comfort it gives him. Perhaps a few would pertain to it as boring. Gun thinks otherwise, however. Stepping out of his comfort zone would be too much for him. Uncertainty has always scared him. Why would he want to challenge fate when he could keep on living the life he’s lived and learned to appreciate?</p><p>When the tattoo artist from the shop across theirs barges in his shop armed with a pencil and a sketchpad, he doesn’t bat an eyelid. People barge in frequently. Case in point, frazzled husbands who forgot their anniversary and have to get a last minute bouquet for their significant other. This, he assumes, is no different. But he finds out that he’s wrong when he asks the man what he’s looking for.</p><p>“Flowers.” the man adorned with permanent sketches on his arms that stretches up to his neck answers as if it isn’t obvious. Gun would like to have a proper look at his tattoos but supposes it would be weird to stare at a stranger’s arms like that.</p><p>“Is there anything in particular you’re interested in.” is what he means.</p><p>“No. Just do your thing. Don’t mind me here.”</p><p>Gun ultimately leaves him alone. He knows when he’s not needed. After all, decision making can be quite a difficult task. He busies himself by checking their email for new orders. Ah, of course. Another bouquet of purple hyacinths with a note that says, <em> I won’t stop until you can feel my sincerity </em>, from Mr. Techaapaikhun. It’s the eleventh bouquet this week and Gun briefly wonders if Mr. Techaapaikhun realises that sincerity is more than sending someone more than a bouquet of flowers accompanied with a slightly aggressive note every single day. He confirms the order anyway.</p><p>“Chimon!” A lanky boy emerges from the staff room, mobile phone in hand. “Thirty minutes. Delivery to Midnight Sun.”</p><p>“Again?”</p><p>“Yes, again. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” Chimon nods and disappears back into the room.</p><p>As he steps out of the counter to pick the flowers, his gaze lands once again on the tattoo artist who is standing right in front of the white chrysanthemums. Curiosity gets the best of him and before he could realise what he’s doing and stop himself, he’s already approaching the man, giving him a tap on the shoulder. “May I bother you with a question?”</p><p>The man’s hand that is busy scribbling about on his sketchpad instantly stills. He almost gasps when the man turns to look at him. Gun soon learns that he cannot take his eyes off him whose piercing eyes seem like it could suck his soul, and he suppresses a whimper the moment the man leans forward and flashes something that Gun reckons is a smile if it didn’t disappear as soon as it appeared. “You’re already bothering me, but go on ahead.”</p><p>Gun knows he should be offended, but he isn’t. “No implication that you leave and assuming that you’re not here to buy anything... what are you doing?”</p><p>“Sketching.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>The man shrugs. “I’m practicing.”</p><p>“Drawing flowers?” Gun is no stranger to the fact that he could get pretty annoying with his relentless questions. However, it’s almost impossible to stop himself when his curiosity is piqued. “Is it absolutely necessary that you practice in a flower shop with live flowers when you could google various photos of flowers. More options, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Just say you want me to get the fuck out and go.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean it like that.” Gun huffs, suddenly feeling sulky. He isn’t as heartless as the man makes him out to be. “Just say you don’t want to be bothered. I’ve got work to do anyway. Happy drawing. Try the peonies, they’re my favourite. Not that it matters.”</p><p>Just like that, he leaves him be for the second time.</p><p>And that’s why Gun is unwelcoming to things that are unfamiliar. He knows himself too well. He knows he wouldn’t stop until that certain strangeness ultimately becomes familiar.</p><p>He takes one more look at the man who has gone back to his drawing, grabs a dozen of purple hyacinths, and sashays away with a thought he could never admit out loud.</p><p>
  <em> Oh gosh he’s gorgeous. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The next time the tattoo artist comes in, Gun doesn’t attempt to talk to him. Instead, he just watches him from the corner of his eye as he once again confirms Mr. Techaapaikhun’s order of the same bouquet with a note that now says, <em> Are flowers not enough? Tell me what it is that you want. I will give it to you </em>.</p><p>Sometimes he wonders if it would be appropriate to send the customer back his order with a handwritten note telling him how much he sucks at this whole apology thing, and then quickly realises that it’s not worth the trouble. He simply has no desire to be fired.</p><p>“He’s here again.” Chimon has an awful habit of popping out of nowhere that tends to scare the wits out of him. It has happened countless times and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. “Oh, sorry phi.” Chimon looks shameful enough, rubbing his back as an apology.</p><p>“Yeah. Let’s not bother him, okay?”</p><p>And they don’t.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The third time it happens, Chimon finds him behind the counter, his face all red. “Are you the one who just came back from delivery and had to endure the scorching hot sun or me?”</p><p>Gun makes a face at him and hastily pulls him close, Chimon’s helmet dropping on the floor in the process. Neither of the two make a move to pick it back up. “Look at him.” he whispers seemingly conspiratorially.</p><p>“I’m looking at him. Now what?”</p><p>“He’s drawing peonies!” Gun now shout-whispers. The distance from the counter to the flower display racks are a good five metres and even then, Gun couldn’t find it in himself to care if the stranger hears him freaking out over him. One look at Chimon’s face and he could already tell he has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t blame him. He, too, finds it hard to understand himself every so often. “The other day I told him they’re my favourite and that he should try drawing them.”</p><p>“Are you moved by it?”</p><p>“Should I be?” It’s a genuine question. He couldn’t fathom why the moment he saw the stranger inspecting the row of peonies, his face started heating up and flashbacks from the day they met flooded his mind. “I don’t know Chimon. But I appreciate it.”</p><p>He lets Chimon give him a few pats on the arm. “That’s good, phi. Hm, you’re itching to talk to him, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I’m curious, is all.”</p><p>“Then just go.”</p><p>Gun is unable to hold back a squeak and his annoyance at Chimon for literally pushing him. He trips on his own feet and falls on the floor humiliatingly so, catching the attention of the stranger and a lady who needs flowers for her daughter who just gave birth. <em> Fantastic </em> , he thinks. He might as well hold an LED board that says <em> look at me I’m an idiot </em> with neon arrows pointing right at him.</p><p>Out of irritation and shame, he doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings, hastily grabbing Chimon’s outstretched hand in an attempt to save what’s left of his dignity. Only when he’s hauled up does he realise that Chimon doesn’t have flowers inked on his forearm. In fact, Chimon’s arm is a blank canvas. Gun stares in horror at his and the tattoo artist’s clasped hands, expeditiously pulling his hand away as if he’s being electrocuted.</p><p>
  <em> Oh no. This isn’t good. </em>
</p><p>It’s the stranger with black and silky hair (which frames his face perfectly), expressive eyes, plush lips, and tattoos on his neck peeking out from under his t-shirt.</p><p>
  <em> Get a grip, Atthaphan. </em>
</p><p>“T-thanks.” he stutters pathetically. “I’m Gun.” He slaps a hand over his mouth upon realising his error. No one’s asking for his name. The stranger probably doesn’t even give a shit even if his name is <em> Poop </em>. From behind him, he could hear Chimon snickering. That kid is surely going to get it from him when all of this is over and done with.</p><p>“Nice name. Here.” He wordlessly takes the piece of paper the tattooed man hands him but doesn’t dare to look at it until the man is headed straight to the door.</p><p>Just as he hears the familiar <em> ding </em> of the shop’s door slamming close, his gaze shifts to the paper in his hands. He flips it over and feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest. It’s a rather intricate sketch of his favourite flower and on the lower right corner is the artist’s signature.</p><p>“Off.” Gun mumbles, the name still tasting foreign on his tongue. “Off.” he repeats. This time, he says it with a smile on his face.</p><p>
  <em> Off.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. some type of way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <a href="https://imgur.com/80Lki9V"></a>
    
    <a href="https://imgur.com/KGNwvQv"></a>
    
  </p>
</div></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>“I’m Gun? I’m Gun, Chimon?! I’m Gun?”</p>
<p>The meltdown comes hours after the incident. The two employees of the flower shop discuss Gun’s misery as they tidy up the shop whilst no customers are around. Chimon laughs, not feeling the least bit bad for his co-worker. “Not impressive, is it phi?”</p>
<p>Gun halts from mopping, resting his temple on the mop handle, a thoughtful look on his face. “Despite fuck ups being fuck ups, there’s always a bright side to it, no? At least I got a name out of that.”</p>
<p>“Alas, the ulterior motive has been spoken.”</p>
<p>“Blablabla. I’m still on a high.”</p>
<p>“You really have a crush on him phi?”</p>
<p>The question goes unheard. His head snaps up, a bright smile decorating his face. “Chimon, we should get tattoos!”</p>
<p>Chimon hums noncommittal, eyes still trained on the window he’s wiping. “According to this article I’ve read, there are certain questions one must ask themselves when they’re feeling impulsive. Like <em> why do you want that </em>? Is it something you’d want in the long run? Would you not feel regret over it when you catch sight of it, say, a week after you’ve purchased that pair of jeans for example?” The more Chimon keeps listing the so-called questions, the more his lower lip juts out. “But material things are different from getting yourself inked, right? One can easily get rid of or stop wearing those jeans. But getting a tattoo costs so much time and money.”</p>
<p>“Since when do you read?”</p>
<p>The look Chimon gives him is that of incredulity. “That’s what you got out of that?”</p>
<p>Gun waves a hand at him, dismissing his claim. “Has anyone ever told you how convincing you could be?”</p>
<p>“No, but thanks.”</p>
<p>Perhaps Chimon is right.</p>
<p>When he comes home that night, he rummages his drawer for a magic tape, and puts up Off’s sketch on his bedroom wall.</p>
<p>
  <em> There. Perfect. </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“What’s on the menu today?”</p>
<p>Gun jumps out of his skin, unconsciously blurting, “Fu—” he slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as it registers in his brain that it’s Off who is standing before him. He catches himself right on time, not wanting to get accused of being a foulmouthed ass. “Funcy— fancy meeting you here Off… I think… it’s what I read on your sketch so… Off hello…”</p>
<p>
  <em> Funcy?! </em>
</p>
<p>“Relax. It’s just me.” And that’s exactly why he can’t just <em> relax </em>, he wants to scream at him. Gun understands that it’s utterly pathetic— how he’s losing his composure and vocabulary over a stranger. Although now that he has a name, he supposes it makes Off less of a stranger.</p>
<p>“Um, what were you asking again?”</p>
<p>“Menu. What’s on the menu?” His brows furrow. Just what is this guy talking about? It’s not a secret that his imagination tends to run pretty wild, and thus he is unable to stop himself from wondering if Off is hallucinating. From what, he doesn’t know. He’s not sure he even wants to know. With his mind on overdrive, he doesn’t notice Off laughing at him. It effectively snaps him out of his stupor. That plus the sudden stinging pain on his arm. Off just pinched him back to reality. “You look like someone just asked you to solve the Riemann Hypothesis.”</p>
<p>
  <em> The what now? </em>
</p>
<p>“By any chance, are you seeing something different right now? The interior for example. Do you see tables scattered around the area? People waiting tables?”</p>
<p>“Why?” Off questions. “Can’t you see it?”</p>
<p>He gasps, a hand clutching his chest. “I knew it!”</p>
<p>“I never pegged you to be weird. It was a joke.”</p>
<p>“I’m the weird one?” Gun retorted incredulously. “I’m not the one who entered a flower shop which <em> obviously sells flowers </em> and asks for a menu!”</p>
<p>“Why are you freaking out? Menus are not exclusive for food.” Off clicks his tongue. He’s got a point, Gun notes. He’s not an idiot but this Off is doing a spectacular job of making him feel like he’s one. “Let me rephrase it then. What do you want me to draw?”</p>
<p>Surely, whoever’s in Gun’s shoes would find it difficult to comprehend the situation. Did Off just insult him and then asked for his opinion? As if his opinion would make a difference in his life? He isn’t aware that he’s to decide what’s going to be in the man’s sketchpad.</p>
<p>
  <em> Huh, interesting. </em>
</p>
<p>“Why do I have to be the one to do that? So you could blame me if it turns out ugly? Not that I’m saying you have ugly drawings because I must say, you’re an incredible artist. The sketch you gave me is so good that I had to put it up on my wall. Mind you, I don’t ever—” Gun stops mid-sentence and groans, realising that he’s said more than he’s supposed to, yet again.</p>
<p>Off must have a secret power, he thinks. One that makes someone unconsciously bare his soul to him. He’s quite sure that if he hangs around Off any longer, he would spew his life story, embarrassing moments included. That’s not something he’s looking forward to, thank you very much.</p>
<p>“I could hear the wheels in your head turning. Relax, all I wanted was an opinion of someone who knows things about my subject.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know <em> everything </em> about flowers.” he says as a matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>“Never said you do. You’re frustrating. But it’s cute.”</p>
<p>Silence lingers for a brief moment before Gun says, “Amaryllis. It’s the one beside the daisies. It’s said to symbolise success. It especially works wonders on people in the creative field to encourage their creative muse and achievements. Totally didn’t say that because you called me cute.”</p>
<p>A chuckle from the other. “Sure.”</p>
<p>Before Gun could muster a sassy response, Off has already walked off.</p>
<p>“Not even a ‘thanks for making my life easier, dude’?” he mumbles disappointedly.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“What are your thoughts on tattoos?” Gun asks his brother when they meet up for lunch that Saturday. Weekends are his off days. When he doesn’t spend time at home, he usually hangs out with his brother. That’s the unfortunate extent of his social life.</p>
<p>“Something you’ve never been interested in.” His brother, Arm, answers curtly, eyes glued to his phone.</p>
<p>It’s annoying how obviously distracted he is, Gun decides. “What’s so interesting in your phone that requires your undivided attention?”</p>
<p>“Just browsing.”</p>
<p>“Which accurately translates to <em> brb just stalking Alice’s social media accounts </em> in Armspeak.”</p>
<p>“Definitely not stalking.” Arm looks offended. “Only checking what my favourite actress is up to lately.”</p>
<p>“Since yesterday.” he corrects, “Because I’m sure you check it daily, if not hourly.”</p>
<p>When Arm sets down his phone with a huff, Gun rewards him with a bright smile. “Why are you suddenly interested in tattoos anyway? Did you lose a bet?”</p>
<p>“Time for a change, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Despite the glare Arm shoots his way, his smile doesn’t falter. Sure, it technically isn’t the reason why he thought of it in the first place. But as the idea frequented his mind, Chimon’s words about having regrets doesn’t seem so intimidating anymore.</p>
<p>Maybe how he sees Off as a working artwork has something to do with it— the way his eyes would keep on shifting to the man’s arms only to get a glimpse of the intricately drawn flowers (and <em> was that a tiger? </em>) etched into his skin. Gun thinks it’s lovely.</p>
<p>“You’ve never done something that drastic.” Arm says, “What brought that on?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. Should he tell him about Off? How the man inadvertently inspired him to do such a thing. “Stop insisting that there’s a reason.” he says after a while. Perhaps feigning annoyance would keep his brother from interrogating him.</p>
<p>Arm raises his hands in fake surrender. “If you want one just go get one.” he answers, stirring his mocha frappe with a straw. Good point. It’s not as if Gun needs anyone’s permission to get one. Although his brother’s input would be nice.</p>
<p>“You’re so pissy.” he mumbles, grabbing his forgotten fork and stabs his half-eaten waffle.</p>
<p>Silence envelopes them for a moment. Arm has gone back to scrolling through his phone whilst Gun occupies himself with observing his surroundings. Their favourite café isn’t crowded even during weekends as it’s tucked away from the main street. Not a lot of people know about the place so when someone familiar steps foot inside, Gun is positively surprised. His brother notices and follows his line of sight.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” Arm asks and he responds by ducking his head, hoping that his brother wouldn’t find it strange. Arm of course finds it strange. “Do you owe that person money?”</p>
<p>Disgruntled, he gives Arm an accusatory look and screams, “I owe no one nothing!”</p>
<p>“I knew it was you.” The Phunsawat siblings turn their heads at the newcomer. Gun certainly isn’t ready for the smirk on Off’s lips. Whatever he’s smirking about, he would like to know. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”</p>
<p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” Gun asks.</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“Like that. However you’re looking at me. Why?”</p>
<p>Off frowns. “I didn’t know I’m looking at you in a certain way.”</p>
<p>“Well you are.” Gun presses further. “So stop it.”</p>
<p>From across him, Arm sighs. “What he means is, it’s nice to see you too. Are you my brother’s friend?”</p>
<p>“No. But I could be anything he wants me to be.”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“No. But I could be anything he wants me to be?” Gun mutters to himself as he paces back and forth in his room. Off unceremoniously left them as soon as he uttered those words in favour of ordering coffee, and Arm bombarded him with questions until he was dropped off at his apartment.</p>
<p>None of the questions were answered simply because it’s not anything relevant for his brother to know, not for the reason that he has anything to hide. Although it wouldn’t come as a surprise if Arm thinks of it as all sorts of shady.</p>
<p>His gaze lands on the sketch on his wall and scoffs, “You could be anything I want you to be, huh?” The ache on his legs is a bit difficult to ignore so he stops pacing and throws himself on his bed. What did Off mean by that? Was it to taunt him? Was it his way to get back at him for interrupting his private time at the flower shop? Even so, the flower shop is a public place. Someone’s bound to pick up on what he was doing. Not only was it uncommon, but he’s also standing right in front of the racks which could possibly make it hard for the other customers to check the flowers out.</p>
<p>The florist’s train of thoughts are rudely disturbed by the incessant knocking at the door. “What?!” he yells rather exasperatingly. His best friend-slash-housemate’s head pops out, face sporting a shit-eating grin. Handsome face, Gun notes bitterly.</p>
<p>“Heard you come in. Your footsteps sounded mad. Just checking on you.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t aware footsteps have emotions.”</p>
<p>“You get what I mean.” Gun keeps mum as he watches his best friend, Oab, invite himself in his room, making a beeline towards his bed to settle right beside him.</p>
<p>“I’m not mad.” he says without waiting for the other to question him.</p>
<p>He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, willing himself to not turn his head and overtly stare at Oab’s face because he knows he’d do just that. His dear best friend Oab whom he used to have feelings for during college. Gun never got around to confessing, however. Whilst Oab is openly bisexual, he’s also had a girlfriend for the longest time that Gun thinks it’s rude of him to develop feelings for the man. That’s mainly the reason why he never acted on his feelings and focused on being the greatest best friend instead.</p>
<p>Despite catching feelings for Oab, Gun never let that stop him from finding his own happiness. Years and years into their friendship, his feelings for the man slowly dissipated. And even when he’s not irrevocably (as he used to put it) in love with him any more, Oab still manages to make his heart flutter every once in a while.</p>
<p>
  <em> The same way Off does. </em>
</p>
<p>“Shit.”</p>
<p>“Boy problems?” Typical of Oab to figure out his inner turmoil. “Is that why you’re so… all over the place?” Gun gives in and turns his head to look at him, his lower lip jutting out. “That face is similar to the one you used to wear when Mike led you on and made you believe he liked you when he just wanted to get in Godji’s skirt. Good thing you didn’t fall in love with him.” Oab comments as he ruffles his hair.</p>
<p><em> Because I was still in love with you that time </em> , he wants to say but decides against it. Entertaining Mike was a futile attempt to get over Oab which backfired fabulously when the man magically appeared as he was confronting Mike and landed punch after punch on the asshole’s face “for messing with the people he loves”. He was so drunk in love that he swooned at that <em> bad boy hero </em>side of Oab and actually contemplated on forcing him to enroll in boxing classes.</p>
<p>“There’s this guy.” he starts, not really knowing what to say. With a bit of encouragement from his best friend, he launches into his story about the first time he saw Off and their current status. “I’m undoubtedly attracted to him. Physically and all. And he’s got such amazing hands.” Realising how his words sound wrong, he points at the sketch on his wall. “That’s the drawing he gave me. Pretty neat, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I like <em> like </em> him or if it’s just a happy crush.”</p>
<p>“It’s only been a week. You’re overthinking. Whatever it is, just go with the flow.”</p>
<p>“That’s easy if I don’t make a fool out of myself when I talk to him.” The pair stays unmoving for a few minutes, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. “Oy,” he speaks soon after, raising a hand to slap Oab on the thigh. Oab shoves him lightly as a response. “Am I easy?”</p>
<p>“It’s a crush, Gun. People get crushes all the time. And you’re single.” Ouch. Gun supposes his best friend feels the need to rub it in his face. “I’m not going to judge you for feeling some type of way for someone who gives you a bit of special attention.”</p>
<p><br/>
Alright then, Gun muses. <em> Just go with the flow. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>question. do you prefer this length for a chapter or just a shorter one like the first? also, the pace isn't too fast bec i don't want to rush things for atp and for them. thanks for reading! :)</p>
<p>p.s. this isn't beta'ed so if you spot some mistakes, etc or if you're confused about anything please don't hesitate to inform me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the land of something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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    <p>When he was told he should “go with the flow”, it probably didn’t mean he should head to the tattoo shop the next day. The tattoo shop. Where Off supposedly works. Realisation belatedly dawns upon him when he’s already standing right outside the establishment, his hand gripping the door handle somewhat tightly.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a wimp.” he tells himself. His grip on the handle tightens even more and he distractedly wonders if it would snap if he grips it hard enough. But then again, he’s no Superman. He couldn’t help but wince at how much he’s stalling.</p>
<p>“You here to get a tattoo?” His head whips around in astonishment. The owner of the voice is a tall, tanned, and buff man with a deep voice that sounds so good Gun wouldn’t mind paying him just so he could read him bedtime stories every night. With that said, he reminds himself that he’s not exactly swimming in a pool of money so he scraps the idea.</p>
<p>The florist doesn’t get a chance to explain himself because he’s already being pushed inside, much to his chagrin. “Hey—”</p>
<p>Tall Man keeps his hands on his shoulders as he maneuvers him to the reception desk where a young man who doesn’t look a day over twenty is preoccupied with a game on his phone, his legs propped up on the desk. “Yo!” Tall Man barks, shoving Young Man’s legs off the desk. “Customer.” he says when the man removes his earphones against his will.</p>
<p>“Can’t let a guy have fun, can you?” Young Man retorts, directing a glare at Tall Man who leaves them alone before looking at him with a smile. Gun is almost amazed at the quick change of emotions. “Hi! Welcome to The Land of Something. I’m Gawin, the receptionist. You may call me that or Fluke. Whichever your heart desires.” the rather charming young man finishes with a wink. Gun chuckles. “You in here for a consultation? We have no appointments scheduled for the next hour so if what you’re looking for is something tiny then I can book you right now.”</p>
<p>“No, I just…” he stalls, yet again, unable to think of what else to say. What is appropriate to say anyway?</p>
<p>“Ah, you don’t know what to get?” Gawin snaps his fingers, his smile only brightening at the new piece of information. “Our place is called The Land of Something for a reason. Can’t decide what to get? Worry not! We can find <em> something </em> that would fit you. Hm, are you looking for something minimalistic? That’s the trend right now, no? People keep coming in for tiny ass tattoos. Line art and all.” Gun is sure he would make a great salesman, if how his sales talk is convincing him to go get whatever is any indication.</p>
<p>“Um,” he starts again, determined to say something coherent this time. “I’m not sure if I even want one.” he confesses.</p>
<p>Oh gosh, he’s just embarrassing himself, isn’t he? Gawin just stares at him and he wants nothing but to teleport back to his apartment.</p>
<p>“Your stare isn’t going to make him magically want one.” Gun stiffens. He knows that voice too well. He watches in silence (only because he’s afraid he’d let out a squeak if he so much as opens his mouth) as Off dismisses Gawin who shrugs and then goes back to his game. “Brave.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” he mutters unintelligibly.</p>
<p>“You stepped right in the lion’s den.”</p>
<p>Gun raises a brow and scoffs. “You? A lion? Hardly.”</p>
<p>“An old one.” Off shrugs, seemingly not offended by his statement. Not that it’s meant to be offensive in the first place. “But still a lion.”</p>
<p>Gun’s eyes are strangely glued to the taller man’s lips. It looks soft, moist, and like it fits perfectly against his plump ones. <em> Wait, what? </em> Panicking over his thoughts, he instinctively runs a hand through his soft locks and clears his suddenly dry throat.</p>
<p>Is this how his body is going to react every time he’s going to have suggestive thoughts about someone he’s attracted to? His throat is going to go dry on him? And then what, he’ll start tripping over his words?</p>
<p>“O-okay.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Just perfect. </em>
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<p>“Enough about me.” Gun forces himself to tear his gaze away from Off’s lips and brings it up a little higher. They make eye contact which does nothing to calm his nerves. “The real question is why are you here? You don’t want a tattoo, you said. Could it be…” Off drawls out, the corner of his lips pulling up in what looks like a smirk. “...that you wanted to see me?”</p>
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<p>“What are you doing here? It’s your day off.” says Jane, the part timer who works on weekends, after he barges in the flower shop.</p>
<p>“I was around the area so I dropped by to say hi.” Gun settles for falsity, but he’s not sure if it’s in any way believable with how he’s trying to even out his ragged breathing. It’s better that way, though, he thinks. So much better than to have to explain to her how Off’s words freaked him out and got him bolting out of the tattoo shop across the street and, in turn, she would (most likely) ask who Off is and then he’d be forced to narrate their backstory. That gives him not much choice but to avoid it completely. He supposes he does have a choice as he simply does not have any obligation to tell her anything. <em> But still. </em></p>
<p>The way Jane stares at him, however, is making him squirm in his spot. Like she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. He opts to ignore it, gesturing at her to continue what she’s doing.</p>
<p>His heart is still thumping rapidly, he’s not going to lie. He shouldn’t have let Off’s words get to him knowing full well that the man is only teasing him if anything.</p>
<p>For the next few days, Gun makes it a point to ignore Off which isn’t exactly a hard task at first since the taller male has not attempted to interact with him as well. However, as days pass, he finds that he’s struggling not to make a mistake and look his way no matter how hyperaware he is that Off is literally within reach, always at least ten feet away from his spot at the counter. Out of sight out of mind, they say. Off still draws a flower a day— information he knows because Chimon made it his duty to constantly give him a blow-by-blow account every time the taller man is around.</p>
<p>When Friday rolls around, Gun is highly convinced that he and Off are now back to being complete strangers and somehow, the thought bothers him more than it should.</p>
<p>
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<p>“If you stare at the door harder I’m sure the glass would break and then we’d have to pay Ms. Panhan for it which I’m sure would make a huge dent on our paychecks.”</p>
<p>Gun considers ignoring Chimon but he doesn’t. Not because he thinks it’s even possible to break the glass by merely staring at it, but because he knows he’s being an idiot. Staring at the door long enough wouldn’t make Off appear. He groans and then slaps his cheek hard in hopes that it would bring him back to reality. The sad thing about it though is it doesn’t work that way. He could slap himself a million times and all he’d get is a bruised and bleeding cheek.</p>
<p>“This isn’t supposed to bother me.” he says, more to himself than to Chimon. “I just don’t understand why he stopped coming around, you know?"</p>
<p>“He’s right across the street, phi. You could ask him and maybe apologise for ditching him like that last week.”</p>
<p>He supposes Chimon has a point. Then again, he wouldn’t have run away if Off didn’t ridicule him in the first place. He was faring well when the man had to open his mouth and ruin everything. As he contemplates what to do, he watches Chimon put on his helmet, about to grab the flower arrangement neatly placed on the counter for a delivery when Gun grabs his wrist. “Don’t go.” he says pathetically, almost sounding like he's pleading which may or may not be true.</p>
<p>Chimon chuckles. “Can’t, phi. Mr. Techaapaikhun’s expecting this to be delivered.”</p>
<p>“Screw him.” he responds with a scoff. “He’s shit. Tay doesn’t deserve him. What do you suppose their story is anyway?”</p>
<p>Chimon grabs on to his hand that’s still wrapped around his wrist, gently prying it off. “You’re stalling. If you let me go I’ll be back faster than with you holding me up like this.”</p>
<p>Of course the boy is correct, he thinks glumly. “Just come back faster.”</p>
<p>Watching his friend drive away, Gun could only muster a sigh. He then reminds himself that his boss isn’t paying him to mope around so he tries to make himself busy by checking the flower racks, taking a look if he needs to stock up on a few. After that, he checks the flower fridge to see if the arrangements that customers would be picking up throughout the day are still looking good and fresh. Realising that he essentially has nothing else to do, he drags himself back to the counter.</p>
<p>He takes a hold of his phone that’s currently charging and scrolls through his social media account. A smile decorates his face when he finds a post about his favourite celebrity. He clicks the link and he’s taken to a site where he could read the entire magazine interview. It effectively takes his mind off things if only for a while. Too engrossed in the article, he doesn’t hear the door chime ringing. He only figures out he isn’t alone when instead of a chunk of words, all he sees is a hand covering his phone screen. With surprise taking over his body, he jumps off his seat and falls on the floor. A thud is heard soon after. Gun could only stare in horror at his phone lying face up, an obvious crack on the corner of the screen.</p>
<p>“Oh shit,” The florist says nothing even when he’s hauled up, still trying to process the incident. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Fuck. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Gun blinks once, and then two more times before he finally looks at the asshole who broke his phone. He doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance when he sees a sheepish looking Off. “You owe me a new screen protector.” he manages to say, a bit proud of himself since he used to have a feeling that when he sees Off again, he’d be a blabbering mess.</p>
<p>“I almost thought I'd have to buy you a new phone.”</p>
<p>“That wouldn’t be so bad as well. I’d take that offer.”</p>
<p>“Except it’s not an offer.” Off retorts.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He’d ask why he stopped talking to him and coming altogether but figures it’s only going to make things awkward.</p>
<p>“Do you have a problem with me?”</p>
<p>Gun is evidently taken aback by the question. He does have half a mind to pick up his neglected (and broken) phone though, setting it back down the counter. Off stares at him expectantly. <em> Right. </em> He needs to respond. “How did you come up with that?”</p>
<p>“For one, you’ve been ignoring me.” Off says with a shrug. “I was going to apologise when I came here last week. I know I might have made you uncomfortable—”</p>
<p>“Not <em> might </em> .” he interrupts, “You <em> did </em>.”</p>
<p>“Precisely my point. I felt bad when you ran off but you started ignoring my presence when I came here to practice drawing.”</p>
<p>“Would it hurt for you to approach me first?”</p>
<p>He almost let out a smile as Off starts to fidget around. Is it bad that he feels some sort of satisfaction with the way Off is being awkward around him? What’s so hard about approaching him anyway?</p>
<p>“I tried okay!” Gun glares. If Off is apologetic like he claims to be, the first thing he should not be doing is shout at him. The older man visibly cowers at his glare. <em> Good. </em> “That’s why I kept on coming back for days but I just didn’t know what to say I guess. I felt hopeless so I just stopped coming here.”</p>
<p>“So then why are you here now?” he demands, straightening up with his arms akimbo.</p>
<p>“Peace offering?” Gun doesn’t say anything, waiting for the other to continue. “If you decide that you want a tattoo, just stop by the shop and I’ll give you one for free.” It’s not such a bad deal, Gun thinks, <em> if </em> he wants one. But he doesn’t. Not now at least.</p>
<p>“What if I don’t ever want a tattoo?” he challenges.</p>
<p>Off sighs. “We can compromise. What do you want?”</p>
<p>Good question. What does he want? Frankly, he finds the question difficult so he chooses to stare at the other male instead. Despite not truly knowing how to answer, there is something he’s been itching to ask. “Why are you practicing drawing flowers?”</p>
<p>“Because I suck at it.” Off answers easily. “I mostly do portraits. Well I don't suck at it <em>that</em> much. Just not as confident as I am with portraits so I thought I needed some practice drawing before I take clients.”</p>
<p>Gun nods in understanding then points to his own neck, referring to the tattoos on Off’s neck. “I think they’re pretty.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. My friend, Joss, did it. I’m sure you’ve seen him.” He furrows his brows, no idea who Off is talking about. The artist seems to have noticed his confusion and chuckles. “You know, that tall buff guy.” he describes, flexing his arms as if to show how ripped his friend must be.</p>
<p>He racks his brain for a brief moment, trying to remember a <em> tall buff </em> guy. “Ah!” he perks up slightly, snapping his fingers as he recalls the guy who pretty much forced him inside the tattoo shop. “I remember him.”</p>
<p>“Well that’s him.”</p>
<p>“Done practicing?” Gun asks after a while, aware that he’s risking their somewhat comfortable conversation to quickly turn awkward. “You haven’t been here in a while,” he clarifies. “That must mean you’re done practicing."</p>
<p>The confusion etched on Off’s face is making Gun second guess himself. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth when all that comes out of it humiliates him in all ways possible. Thankfully, Off spares what’s left of his dignity and says, “No. I stopped because I thought you have a problem with me. Didn’t I tell you that already?”</p>
<p>Gun starts sweating bullets as he remembers that <em> yes</em>, Off did mention that. “You did? I don’t think you have.” But alas, his pride is not going to let him admit it.</p>
<p>“<em>Oh. </em> Now I have.”</p>
<p>He should feel bad for lying. He knows he should. Especially now that he understands how everything was a result of a misunderstanding. They could have avoided this awkward situation they’re in if either of them just talked to the other directly. It was such a waste of time and the unnecessary stress on Gun’s part simply wasn’t worth it.</p>
<p>“See you tomorrow?” he asks, his own version of apology for running away and leaving him hanging.</p>
<p>The response he gets is silence. Deafening silence. He instantly feels miserable, wanting to run away, yet again, and not deal with this, whatever <em> this </em> is. The only thing he could hear is his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.</p>
<p>Seconds turn into minutes. Gun could feel nothing but his blood rushing to his face as the embarrassment sets in. Why did he have to say something stupid?</p>
<p>
  <em> Why would you assume that he’d want to come back? Don’t get too ahead of yourself Atthaphan. He— </em>
</p>
<p>In the midst of his inner monologue, Off’s voice interrupts him. “Yeah, tomorrow.”</p>
<p>A wave of relief washes over him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry if the update took so long. i hope you enjoyed it :)</p>
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